The Passenger
by Psychic City
Summary: "Of all the songs in the entire universe that could have been playing at the moment, Stuart Pot wondered why exactly it had to be this one." A short chapter story with 2D x Noodle. When 2D is in need of some help, Noodle is there to pick up the pieces.


**Psychic City:** This opening chapter is based off of a quote from 2D during one of Murdoc's recent pirate radio sessions. He says something about the recording of "Happy Landfill" and how miserable he was the night before recording the song in the studio.

Short story involving 2D x Noodle. Of course, ol' Muds will make some fantastic cameos.

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**Chapter One:**  
**The Underage Drinker**

Of all the songs in the entire universe that could have been playing at the moment, Stuart Pot wondered why exactly it had to be this one.

From where he was sitting, he could hear the oncoming words of the melody as it twirled into his eardrums. And the voice was his own, rugged and nonchalant as it danced throughout the tiny little pub for the rest of the world to enjoy. And usually, he would have enjoyed it, too. At this moment, however, he was perhaps far too drunk to enjoy the moment. "Happy Landfill" was perhaps the sole song that mortified him, reminded him of why he was even in the pub in the first place. _Brilliant,_ he murmured mentally and downed another large gulp of twinkling brown rum.

For a second, as he stared into the contents of his cup, he considered what he had made of his existence. No longer Stuart Pot, 2D had become his new persona. In the process he'd fallen into a coma, lost his front teeth, and garnered a pair of eight-ball fractures at his eye sockets. No longer in his quaint little bedroom with his parents, 2D's roommates now consisted of his band mates; Russel, Noodle, and Murdoc Faust Niccals. As 2D finished up his glass of alcohol and quietly beckoned for another one, he gave the bar top a swift glancing over and covered his ears with the palms of his clammy hands. He smelled something rotting, but he couldn't put his finger on the source of it. And he wondered, _why this place? _Why this bar on this street corner at this time of night? He'd been going to the same one for years and still he found himself oblivious.

He wished the song would end so that the people in the pub would stop staring. He'd noticed them as they craned their heads to get a better look, heard them when they asked a loud, "is that really _him? _From Gorillaz?" And although it was an exclamation that usually flattered 2D, he seemed almost aggravated about it at the moment. Yet he only willed for the murmurs to go away and waited patiently for the sound of his glass being kindly refilled before him.

"'Ad a rough nigh'?" asked the bartender over the sound of 2D's miserable groan. The singer looked up, allowing his bruised eyes to take hold of the portly man in front of him. The pub tender raised his thick, bushy eyebrow, arching it curiously as he watched 2D analyze him. He was a Hispanic man, far past his forties, with short wispy hairs along the top of his lip. He had a thick Mexican accent, as did the majority of the pub members, and he seemed kindly inquisitive.

His face was one that 2D had seen around the pub often, one that he recognized even. 2D liked him by the way that he ran his bar. He remained stern to his policy of don't ask, don't tell. Thus, the blue-haired singer shook his head, politely responding back to the man. His tone, however, was deeply morose. "More li' a rough couple of years," he stated, eyeing the refilled glass with a gracious gleam in his eye.

"_Sin Ofender,_ but chu look li' you've seen your fair share o' rough years, Holmes," said the man.

2D's face fell. He didn't bother denying it- the look of his face alone was enough to give off such an idea. Early on, when he'd caught the first glimpse of himself in the mirror reflection of the hospital bathroom, 2D was aware of the new impression that he would give off to people. He'd never been used to looking scary; in fact, he was usually complimented on his appearance. Yet the collision of his face with both Murdoc's car and the pavement had put a genuine end to his previously angelic demeanor. Still, his permanently morose expression was one that had been hard to get used to. Despite the friendly tone of the bartender, 2D couldn't help but feel all the more miserable.

"Oy, no," said the bartender, reaching out to pat a meaty hand on 2D's arched shoulder. He seemed to have realized that he had offended the Gorillaz's singer. "I no mean to offend," with that he scooted away, pouring the vocalist a second glass of rum and shoving it in his direction down the bulk of the slippery bar. "Here... this one's on me." Then, feeling awkward, he turned back from the arched figure of 2D and tended back to the rest of the miserable pub-goers.

2D stared at the glass of rum that he had been appeased with. He was used to people shoving alcohol in his face whenever he showed the slightest bit of discomfort- that, or they'd run to his pain killers. Though the instinct was not one that offended 2D in the slightest. In fact, he'd appreciated it most of the time. Even Murdoc, who'd been an absolute twat to him most of the time, had found it in his rotten soul to chuck the bottle of pain-killers at his head whenever he found it necessary. Russel, too, had become quite guilty, though he had not been eager to feed 2D's addiction. Only Noodle, however, contained the willpower to resist.

Noodle. The very thought of her made 2D's head spin like crazy and, involuntarily, he reached for another drink. She didn't like it when he drowned himself in rum or numbed himself with pills. He wondered what she'd do if she knew that he had crawled here. With a slight sting of guilt, he regretted sneaking out of Kong Studios during the late night by himself. Despite the terrible buzz he'd caught over the course of the evening, he'd remembered the desperate feeling that he'd felt as he crept past Noodle's bedroom on his way towards the front door. He could hear her strumming on her guitar, oblivious to 2D's footsteps from the hallway outside. He'd halted there for a moment, considering wandering into her room instead, sinking on her bed, and just watching her play. She had really grown quite good at it, too. At only eleven, 2D was beginning to truly believe that she'd soon be in the ranks with Jimmi Hendrix or something. Yet she maintained this sort of innocence that had always perplexed 2D.

With a sad little sigh, he had thought back to when he was eleven, and smoking, and freshly blue-haired. His mother had tried to dye out the colour with hair products, but nothing had really come to any use. But back then, Stu Pot was already flunking out of school, and running home from school bullies, and smoking behind the trash bins in the alleyway. In the split second that he had remained standing outside of Noodle's bedroom door, he found himself all the more desperate to hurry off the the pub after all.

So there he was- a bit of sinking landfill. Perhaps not so happy indeed. Voice sore, eyes tired, he obliged and downed the rest of the rum that had been poured in front of him.

But the light of the pub seemed to dwell on him; when he'd opened his eyes to scan the interior of the space, the flickering lights had crept up on him far more intensely than he had expected. Heat washed over him like a merciless wave. He needed to cool off, needed chilly water to his face , shaky, he lifted himself up from the barstool and used the counter top for support. Yet the room only seemed to squiggle around him. Faces of the bar leered in, eyebrows raised at his assumedly intoxicated swagger. But 2D knew better; this was a migraine, and a pretty intense one at that. He cursed himself inwardly. How had he not seen the signs? The cheap lights, his body's flush of heat, the smell of something rotting... how could he have let them pass him so carelessly? And here? Now, in front of all these people?

"Sir, are you alright?" someone asked him in his ear, though the voice was distant, far away.

He glanced back over his shoulder, locking eyes with a barely twenty-one year old female. Her expression shifted when she saw him and he friend nudged her excitedly, "see!" the second girl exclaimed, "it _is_ him!"

2D wished he'd brought Noodle. She had been very patient when it had come to 2D and his migraines and had even begun to keep track of the triggers that had set him off. If she were here, he headache wouldn't have been happening. If she were here, perhaps he wouldn't have felt so miserable.

Despite his hazy state, 2D couldn't help but feel sick at his sudden desire for the guitarist's presence. She was barely eleven, yet 2D had felt a connection with Noodle that he had never truly felt with any other girl that he had ever met. Besides Paula. Though perhaps that had been what had led him back to the pub in the first place. Both Paula and Noodle had been a consistent haunt to him for what had become quite some time. Yet he was not in love with Noodle; perhaps, 'fascinated' was more the word he was looking for. Her innocence had perplexed him, made him jealous and curious all at the same time. Despite her young age, 2D imagined what she would do if she were here right now, but her absence proved to him that he was out of luck.

"Hey," the woman from earlier called again. She looked distorted up close, conflicted within the strangely twisted vision through 2D's warped vision. For a moment she looked as if she were about to help him, but instead, she shoved out her hand and enclosed it within 2D's own spidery fingers. "Hey, 2D! It's such a pleasure to finally meet you! I'm... I'm just _such _a big fan!" She dropped 2D's limp hand and leaned backwards, smoothing out the skirt of her dress before thrusting out the top of her chest girlishly. She twirled a finger in her hair and chomped noisily on her stack of obnoxious pink bubble gum. "I listen to your album, like, every night..."

2D could only offer her his best smile before decisively shrinking away. However, he lost his balance in the process, succumbing to the flashing lights that blinked rapidly around him like explosives. He felt something thick rush into his chest, an invisible force that knocked him backwards, and the light of the room consumed him as he felt the crowd around him grow thicker. His hand touched the edge of the pool table. "Do ya mind if I get your autograph?" asked the girl's friend, her frizzy blonde hair appearing to eat her skull entirely. She was clutching a pen and her knuckles were growing white with the sheer anticipation that she held it with.

She inched the pen into his hands and watched as he limply took it. Then she shoved a napkin into his chest, a wide smile on her heavily-made up visage. Nonetheless, 2D tactfully turned towards it. His eyes blinked away the blur that had tainted the image of the hand napkin in general. He let his wrist freely move across the thing and when he finished signing what he'd thought to be his name, he heard the girl turn to her friend and whisper, "wot's this say?"

He lost his footing as he made his way away from the two. Thus, before he had time to realize it, he had come face-to-face with the ground. His head had hit the floorboards much harder than he had anticipated and he felt the intense throb of it make his migraine triple on impact. The bar goers came to a halt around him, standing frozen, lit up with gasps that echoed out wildly. Someone said, "he's drunk," and 2D felt a wave of nausea as he struggled to state otherwise.

However, his hand flew towards his trouser pocket, ready for the orange bottle of pills he'd kept handy. But the emptiness in his pocket made his heart sink. He'd forgotten his pills, left them at home on the surface of his nightstand. He cringed at the thought of them sitting there, useless in such a great distance. And as he lie on the ground on the dingy little pub, he even tried not to cry at the loss of his helpful medications.

Only, he remained on his back, face up squinting into the blinding streaks of light that shone down on his pale and sweaty face. The pub grew hot- too hot. Such an intense heat made him flinch and drip sweat from even single pore in his body. His eyes seemed to roll back into his head, the lids flicking with every passing second of faltering consciousness. The sound of that song, that same song of a somewhat happy landfill, it echoed in his head mercilessly. A broken record, it would not let 2D rest, would only pester him more until he finally did loose consciousness. And as he let himself fall back into the dark space of haze that infiltrated the dirty pub, he could just about hear his own fading voice.

The crowd around him leaned closer, taking a kneeled position before him as a collection of one. "That's the thing about those rock stars," whispered one of them, an older man with a shaggy gray beard and eyes as blue as an ice burg, "always end up drinkin' themselves t' death."

"Well turn 'im ova," croaked another, a woman whose belly fat far surpassed the circumference of her cropped trousers, "or else he'll end up going out like tha' one guy..."

She left her sentence trail off and 2D, despite his migraine, wanted to tell her that she meant Jimi Hendrix. However, he couldn't say a word. Instead he felt a hand tap his cheek, saying anxiously, "alright, come on, mate, let's get you over." 2D shook his head. He didn't want to be turned over. He just wanted to be left alone. A miserable moan escaped from his throat and he attempted to lift his hands to stop himself from being shifted. However, the man above him was much stronger. Bent over, he hoisted 2D's upper torso off of the pub floor and positioned the singer upwards. For a split second, 2D remained in a wobbling and wonky seated position on his own.

He felt the bile come up to his throat far quicker than he had anticipated. But he could see that he man hoisting him upwards was only interested in his paling visage and his sweaty palms. He listened as the figure turned back to the bartender, accusingly asking, "how much did ya give 'im tonight, then eh?"

The blue haired man lifted his shaky hand to his mouth, perhaps the only amount of movement that he could mange at the moment. He breathed inwards, swallowing thickly the massive lump that resided there. Yet the pressure was too rough, too persistent to let him go. And, as he had so many times while suffering from a migraine, 2D was sick all over the carpet in front of him. The man jumped back, releasing 2D's shoulders instantly and leaving him to lean up against the side of the pool table, his hands clutching his stomach. When he'd finally finished, he collided back to the floor with a rather heavy bang.

"Alright, buddy, up," came the stern response, but 2D only sloped downwards, back on the floor at his side for the second time in the evening. "We can't have you sick in here."

2D blinked, curling up on the floor. He had never been kicked out of a pub before- at least, he hadn't in quite some time. Being famous did have its perks, and his persistent admittance into bars had been one of many. When they made motion to reach under his armpits again, 2D couldn't help but think poorly about the situation. His first time getting kicked out of a pub in a long time, and he wasn't even drunk enough to forget it later.

The crowd around him parted, making way to remove him. He heaved, expecting more bile, and they consequently backed off, leaving the singer to spit up more over the side of his knees. His face crumpled, eyes pressing tighter shut. He wished for Russel, though he had been fast asleep in his bed back at Kong. The drummer would have known what to do, would have brought his pills as a reminder for 2D, anyway. He regretted sneaking out of the studio for a night of drinking in the first place. He regretted not noticing the signs of his migraine before hand. As he sat there loathing himself, he stifled a sob in the pit of his throat.

"Oh! Err... oi, amigo, uh... don' cry." It was the first sympathetic tone of the thousands that 2D had heard since wobbling from his pub seat in the first place. The Mexican bartender was leaning over him, his large belly over the front of his pants. His face was twisted in a careful sort of manner and his thick gray eyebrows were bent low with concern. He rest his palm on 2D's shoulder as it rose and fell. Then he watched at 2D wiped his face with the front of his clammy palms. "You 'ave drank too much, es all," he said.

The vocalist shook his head. He looked and felt a mess. He could feel the shoulder of his sweater that had fallen loose from his body. He'd dosed the entire front of himself in throw up. His Oxford shoes had come untied and hung half-way off of his heel. His head spun and the glare of the pub blinded him. "Forgo' me pills," croaked 2D, running his hands through his head of blue hair. He tried to explain, but the words from the jukebox had drowned him out; more or less, people were far more focused on the mess he had left behind for them.

The bartender looked up, his palm lingering on the singer's hunched back. "'E forgo' 'is pells?" he said, thick accent waving around 2D's throbbing head. He knew that the man didn't understand.

"Do you really want a liability on your hands?" A new man had stepped up closer. He wore a large frown and kept his hands in his pockets. "If this guy dies in your pub, ya know you're liable." He glanced around, locking eyes with the bartender intently. "These big time rock stars... always suin'..."

They watched 2D attentively, accusing him prematurely. Their brows lifted and even the once kind pub owner backed away from him, his hand hovering in the air. They sat frozen for a while, all but 2D, who had crunched within himself, his fingers combing his greasy hair. He wished he could stop crying and get up. He wanted to waltz out the pub, away from his 'Happy Landfill' recording, and crawl back into his bed. However, he remained a tightly wound ball.

"Oi," a strong voice broke through the silence and the front door of the pub swung open. 2D could not see from behind the shadows around him, but the rest of the room glanced over.

"No, no... oi, niña chiquita. Chu are too young, there is an age limit!"

"_Nani ga okotteiru no desu ka?" _Tiny footsteps clamored across the room, despite protests from the barman at 2D's side. Then a tiny hand reached around the man and pulled him aside. He didn't bother to attempt to escort the presence out. Instead, he allowed the small framed figure to push its way into view. "2D?"

2D recognized the voice instantly; Noodle. His little Noodle. She must have taken her chance to sneak into the pub while the bartenders had been distracted. But she did not look as if she had tried to get inside for a chance at a good time. Instead, her complexion was forlorn, distraught at the sight of her close friend, dizzy and sick on the ground floor below her. Her eyes were glossy with tears and, standing there in her pyjama top and a pair of sweats, she looked as if she had never seen anything more sad in her life.

The mere sight of her broke 2D's heart. He let his hands fall down from his head, eyes widening at the solemn vision of her face. On instinct, he tried to yank himself up, much more desperately than he had on previous occasions. His attempt has only done him a fraction of success, however. He'd lifted his hand to the edge of the pool table, slipped at the wood, and fell back into the two girls from before. "Hey, you're the little girl on the guitar," whispered one of them, her eyes narrowing. Though she certainly had been overly intoxicated, she must have seen the eleven-year-old Noodle as a threat. She turned back over her shoulder to the girl at her right, "what she doing here?"

Noodle paid the girls no attention. Instead she remained looking at 2D, her face still distorted disappointedly. She ignored 2D as he contorted himself, trying to come up with an excuse for his night out. However, she then bent down low, her hands underneath his chin, and brushed away his teary face lightly. "Noodle have nightmare," she told him, her hair messy from what had been an apparently rough sleep. "2D not in room."

"I..." 2D started, but then thought better of it. "Noods..."

Noodle shook her head, bringing her finger up to 2D's lips to silence him. The crowd around the room didn't move. "I tired, 2D," she told him.

Then, she scooped her hands underneath 2D's arms. She was not strong enough to lift him, but 2D found immense support from her. He staggered along her side, past the gaping crowd, past the pool table, and past the bar itself. He blinked out the foggy wetness that tainted his vision and saw that the door to the pub had grown much closer. Noodle had helped him reach it quickly. And Noodle's fingers slid down from 2D's waist, thus intertwining within his musician's fingers.

They stumbled out into the night- or, more or less 2D stumbled. Noodle's stature was rather impressive, however. She directed him out from the bar and patiently waited for him as he struggled to lit his feet. But she'd noticed that he had stopped crying. Instead, he seemed more focused on the side walk, on moving his legs, and on Noodle's hand in his. She was such a strong little girl and 2D couldn't help but be amazed. Nonetheless, he staggered along with her, watching as she led him towards the end of the street. Like a professional, she struck her finger out and a the oncoming vision of a cabby pull out in the distance.

She didn't say a word when the driver pulled over, stopping in front of 2D and Noodle, craning his neck out eagerly. She pulled the door open, gently led 2D into the cab with a soft push. Then, she climbed in next to him, turning to the driver to whisper the address of Kong in his ear. But 2D's head had begun its usual throbbing again. He had undoubtedly felt better about leaving the pub, but his migraine had still persisted. He slumped forward as he was directed inwards, his head on the glass window at his side. But Noodle glanced over her shoulder, turning away from the driver as he pulled away from the sidewalk. When she leaned back, she rest her heavy head on 2D's shoulder.

"I'm sorry ah left ya, Noods," mumbled 2D, feeling disgusted with himself. Noodle didn't seem to mind the mess on his clothes, instead, she remained still, a small child trying only to get some proper sleep. "I dunno what ah was finkin'." He was honest when he'd said it, too. How could he just leave Noodle there alone? He resented himself at the moment, considered his migraine a well deserved one. Leaving Kong Studios that night had just been so selfish.

The cab driver took a sharp turn and 2D's head slammed back into the glass. Noodle's hand dove to his again; she must have forgotten his pills, as well. But then again, it wasn't her responsibility. She "Migraine?" she asked, glancing up to 2D's head and pointing.

2D nodded, his cheeks flushed.

Noodle chewed her bottom lip. She did not know much english, but she could tell when 2D was in pain. It was something she hated witnessing, yet she knew that help was only a couple blocks away. As the cabby took another distinct turn, she could see 2D's awareness slipping. "Stay 'wake, 2D," Noodle pleaded, her eyes wide and her tone frantic. She couldn't carry him up the hill to Kong without his help.

The singer winced, having already fallen fractionally unconscious. "Mmmm," he moaned responsively.

She felt his stature fall and, much to her horror, 2D slipped down the side of the car dizzily. She could feel his breath grow long, as if a moan, and when the sight of Kong came closer, Noodle couldn't help but panic. Something about the cab driver jerked and the car came to a halt. 2D fell forward, his head in Noodle's lap; and for a moment the young girl froze, daunted for the millionth time in the fading evening.

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**Nani ga okotteiru no desu ka?- **What's going on here? _  
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